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I think you're thinking of someone else.
I've fallen into this trap of wanting everything I write to be less than 200 words. I'm writing to match my attention span, which has been waning for a decade. I love you, internet, but you've rewired me. I'm a goldfish.
I've just emerged from a week of activity. Seeing people, doing things--the family business. My sister was visiting from overseas, so all of us and our partners spent as much time together as possible.
For a person who spends so much time alone, it was borderline surreal. I'm so terribly unsocial that after a day or two of steady interaction I feel like a part of my brain shuts down. I mean, I'm there, eating, talking, making plans--and I'm happy to be there, because these are people I love--but everything seems odd and other, like watching my life through the wrong end of binoculars. At the end of it, there's an unshakeable sense I've imagined it all.
I've just emerged from a week of activity. Seeing people, doing things--the family business. My sister was visiting from overseas, so all of us and our partners spent as much time together as possible.
For a person who spends so much time alone, it was borderline surreal. I'm so terribly unsocial that after a day or two of steady interaction I feel like a part of my brain shuts down. I mean, I'm there, eating, talking, making plans--and I'm happy to be there, because these are people I love--but everything seems odd and other, like watching my life through the wrong end of binoculars. At the end of it, there's an unshakeable sense I've imagined it all.